punch in the kidneys

Some more Twin Things™ in honour of our favourite genetic identicals

-being pissed when people don’t make an effort to tell you apart
when the new freshman backliner is stuck cleaning the court after practise: hey Andrew, can you pass me the bucket of balls?
Aaron: it’s Aaron
Freshman: same difference
Aaron: *maintains eye contact while reaching out with his foot, knocking over the bucket so that balls scatter across the court* 

-being annoyed when people can’t tell them apart (”we’re not the same fucking person”) but also weirdly annoyed if they can (”you guys don’t actually look that alike!” “yeah cool what makes you think that your opinion is relevant???”) 

-hoarding extras so that your twin can have a share of the good stuff
Andrew: *takes the last two beers from the fridge, ignoring Kevin’s protests*
Kevin: why are you taking both, you know that’s my favourite brand-
Aaron: *comes out of bathroom*
Andrew: “hey, catch loser” *throws beer at Aaron*
Aaron: *swears and fumbles catch*

-’So who is the evil twin?’ questions.
Allison: *laughs*

-Matt and Nicky are watching Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows when the scene where Fred dies comes on. Aaron steals the remote and changes the channel bc honestly fuck that shit

-holding grudges for each other, even when the other twin has forgotten about it
“Andrew why do you keep targeting that dealer.” “He tripped you with his stick.” “No he di- Andrew that happened last year

-using each other as a comparison for all their weird health problems.
“urg, i feel sick.” “yeah that happens whenever I drink milk.”
“that sign over there is blurry right?” “…uh no?” “What? no, everything in the distance is out of focus.” “No it isn’t?!” “Fuck.”
(Nicky: oh my god you’ve been driving us around for three years)

-both twins secretly wanting to dress up as the twins from the Shining for Halloween

-using ‘We’ a lot
Andrew eats tuna, proceeds to break out in hives. “Dumbass, we’re allergic to tuna.” “oh we are, are we? since fucking when?”

-even when they don’t have any evidence for it
“nah we hate maths.” “actually calculus is alright.” “…who even ARE you”

-being more insulted when their twin is insulted than when they are
Aaron’s classmate in med school: your twin is, like, a pro footballer or something right?
Aaron: sure
Classmate: haha guess you got all the brains between you, huh?
Aaron: *not sure why he’s so offended, but offended all the same*

-speaking of med classes, Aaron definitely gets that little jolt of excitement whenever a lecturer mentions twins or twin studies. quietly like ‘hey, that’s me, i have one of those’ it’s a thing

-definitely have dealt with creepy dudes at Eden’s Twilight who just have to mention the Twin Thing. Andrew punched one in the kidneys. Aaron thinks he should’ve used a knife.

-the Five Second Fight phenomenon 
Aaron: *says something rude or aggressive at practise*
Andrew: *says something cruel*
silence. they stare at each other for a few seconds. Andrew slowly reaches out and flicks Aaron on the forehead. Aaron rolls his eyes and gives Andrew his Gatorade. It’s red flavour. Andrew’s favourite. They are both appeased. Everyone else is too scared to comment.

-they don’t have twin ~ESP~ or anything, because it mostly comes from years of over-exposure. they’re still working on that classic Twin Bond. 
*both of them studying at 2am”
Aaron: i freakin’ hate anatomy, why do i need to know that the hyoid bone provides attachment for the larynx-
Andrew: that bone is often fractured in victims of strangulation
Aaron: what
Andrew: in dead bodies. if the hyoid bone is fractured, often they’ve been strangled. Neil told me.
Aaron: …neat
(shhh they’re bonding)

-anyway TWINSIES 

Under the Bed

Nettie is eating ice cream. The cold burns against her silver incisor, but feels good against the small cut inside her mouth she’d gotten last week. It’s an even trade.

Nettie is all about even trades.

Most think that they liked to be paid in money. Old money, sure, gold and silver that doesn’t have the same sort of inflation risk as paper, but that implies that they have something to spend it on.

No, Nettie’s maybe the only one who knows what sort of things monsters like to be paid in and is willing to provide it. Which is why she’s sitting in the middle of a park at 3 am waiting for her contact to arrive.

At 3:03, her contact’s preferred meeting time, the fog rolls in. Nettie rolls her eyes as it creeps through the sparse trees ahead of her, turning the grass silver under the moonlight with precipitation. So dramatic and not at all secretive. Her eyes flick up to the security camera mounted on the lamppost across the street. She wonders when the government will admit they see monsters at night. She hopes it’s not in her lifetime.

That’d be bad for business.

The outline of a tree several yards away from her begins to waver. It looks like someone might be behind it, a darker band appearing around the trunk as if someone is hugging it. Then they’re gone and the same wavering, black shadow appears behind a tree several feet ahead of it.

Nettie watches and eats her ice cream, glad that her leather jacket is hiding the way her arm hair is standing on end. She’s never been the type to hide her fear.

Then she met beings who enjoyed it.

A dark pool in front of her widens, the shadows twisting upwards. She calmly takes a  bite of the cone as the shade forms, the shadow creature not stopping until it’s reached its full height at seven feet.

She feels the sensation of pumice in her mind and frowns. “Gren? Where’s Mandy?”

The shadow figure ripples, for once not kicking up a fuss at her nicknames for them. An orange light flares briefly in what one might assume was its hand but she knew to be its mouth.

Her spine snaps straight. “What?”

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Orc Boyfriend

I got a request for an orc a while ago and I just got a really good idea for it! I really enjoyed writing this one. Female reader with male monster.

   For a while now you’ve been watching him, he comes into the village with his load of kills and sells them all to the highest bidder. Once he has his gold he drinks all night and sleeps all the next day, coming out during the evening only to eat and then be on his way. Nonetheless, you’ve taken a shine to him and now you know exactly what you want.

   He’s big a mean looking, always an angry scowl on his face. One eye is permanently shut, a long, gnarled scar going down from the forehead to his chin. You heard several stories about how he lost that eye. Some day to a misfortunate knight who crossed his path, others say a monster more hideous than him. There are too many tales to know the truth. As many scars as he bares it really doesn’t matter anyway. All you wanna do is climb him like a tree.

   You know your taste doesn’t make much sense, wanting to bed one of the most fearsome orcs in the village. Yet you have this craving for him, ever since the first time, you saw him. Big and hulking, his hands could crush you without trying. His broad chest was hairy, his belly hard and pooched and stuck over the top of the belt. You knew he could rip in half in more ways than one, but still, you wanted him. No one else compared.

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The different positions in which Steve has carried Tony to bed:

  • the bridal carry (for when tony’s fast asleep at his work bench and steve can just scoop him up and carry him to their room)
  • the fireman’s carry (this doesn’t happen regularly but it’s usually for when tony’s puts up a fight and whines because he’s not finished working. steve will roll his eyes, pick tony up with ease and throw him over his shoulder. steve has been punched in the kidneys a lot for using this)
  • the koala hug (here, tony will just latch himself to steve’s front and will wrap his legs around his waist and just hold on. steve has him in a secure hold and tony’s usually asleep by the time they’re upstairs)
  • the piggyback (not even to bed, tony just wants to feel like tall people sometimes) 
the fighter

request: Can you write about Harry getting a new personal trainer to help him get in shape (like boxing and cardio and stuff) and he gets set up with a really pretty girl and he really likes her but she won’t date her clients and he tries to persuade her and ya whatever you come up with!!!

i had a lot of fun writing this one so i hope you guys like it ((: a huge thank you to @stylishmuser for reading this over for me ily


questions, comments, concerns.

You’re pounding away at the punching bag in your pastel pink gloves, sweat dripping down your forehead and french braids bouncing against your shoulders as music blasts through your headphones. 

You’re expecting a new client soon and sometimes your nerves act up when that happens, knowing you’re an amazing personal trainer, but knowing sometimes men can’t see past your pretty body or your “girly” pink gloves. On top of that, you’d been informed that your new client was Harry Styles, former member of One Direction. The most high profile client you’d ever had.

You don’t hear him come in behind you as you’re hitting the bag as hard as you can to fight off your anxiety, sending it flying on the chain in the opposite direction. As it’s swinging back in your direction, you take the time to swing your leg around with the intention of kicking the bag in a more dramatic move than necessary. But as you twist your body your leg narrowly misses the man and he falls over trying to avoid a kick to the gut. In your shock you lose your balance and fall back on your butt, the bag swinging forward and colliding with your head instead of the foot it was meant for.

Ripping your headphones off and standing immediately, you tower over him, “Christ, don’t you know better than to sneak up on someone who’s training?”

“I’m sorry, I was trying to let you know I was here without startling you.” He stuck out his hand, “I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.” 

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Someone Said I Needed A New Hobby So I've Started Spinning In Circles Until I Throw Up Recreationally

Someone told me I needed more friends so I’ve started talking to the trees

Someone said hi to me on a walk today and I accidentally screamed howdy back

Someone said I’ve been acting like a dick lately so I’ve been trying not to feel feelings

Someone recommend I start over somewhere new so I started driving a new way to work

Someone told me that they have a deep desire to punch me in my kidneys and I smiled, looked down, then laughed

Someone finally stopped waiting for me to text them back and I feel indifferent about it

Someone took me to a fancy restaurant and I forgot to thank them because I was too busy thinking about the holes in my pants

Someone told me I still got a lot of life left to live and I developed ‘a lot-of-life-left-to-live disorder’

Someone told me I should try to go a month without drinking and I’m on day three

Someone muttered an incorrect political fact so I took out my bad past year on them

Someone asked me to look up the weather for them on my phone and I told them I didn’t know how to do that

Someone told me I told you so and I put my hand on their shoulder then told them how proud everyone one is of them

anonymous asked:

uuuhhh how about some headcanons on an AU whERE JASPER LIVES. HE IS ALIVE AND WELL HAHAHA NO GHOST BABIES HERE.


So I’m gonna be shameless with this one, because while we could easily go non-shipping or the standard Jaspid route … I gotta indulge my Jaspidwen needs, okay? I wrote an entire fanfic with @hopefullypessimistic84 about this ship, I’m not going to miss an opportunity to ramble about it now.

1. Jasper almost died when he was a kid; he was dared to row out to Spooky Island and spend the night there, but David woke up as he was trying to sneak out and stopped him. (If this sounds like it’s ripped wholesale from HopefullyPessimistic’s Finding a Family, that’s because … it is. Obviously. It’s amazing. Basically all of these were either created entirely by Hope or in conjunction with her, because our conversations are almost exclusively about this dumb family.)

2. He never really grew attached to the camp the way David did, not after that Order of the Sparrow fiasco, and he certainly never had the same respect for Campbell. But he loves it for how important it is to David, and while he never works there full-time, he’ll usually take a week off in the summer to come up and “help” … which mostly means cause trouble.

3. Jasper calls David “Davey” and sometimes “sweetheart.” He calls Gwen “doll” (no one calls her “Gwennie” unless they want a halfhearted punch in the kidneys).

4. He retains his terrible fashion sense well into adulthood, to the extent that it becomes a point of honor more than anything. He loves bright colors and garish patterns, but more than anything he’s too stubborn to admit that the 90s aesthetic was hideous. That being said, he’s surprisingly knowledgeable and opinionated about fashion trends and has a great eye, which he turns into a career in marketing/advertisement and graphic design.

5. He loves memes. Loves them. The more annoying and incomprehensible the better. Surprisingly, Gwen, with her addiction to all things inane pop culture, is the most likely to both understand and appreciate his dumb meme jokes, while David is usually confused and Max just wants Jasper to fucking s t o p

Future Yang, speaking to her son: Now son. Today’s your birthday. And you’re a full grown man now.

Son: Mom I’m twelve.

Future Yang, carrying on: So to get you situated I’ve hired a man to follow you around in a shirt that says “Life” and punch you in the kidneys at random times.

Son: M-…mom…why would you do that?

Future Yang, through angrily gritted teeth: Because that’s what life is son. That’s what life is.

How to prepare for motherhood

1. Stop sleeping for stretches longer than 20 minutes
2. Hold poop on your hands
3. Spend 40% of your income on diapers
4. Refer to yourself in third person
5. Draw on all your favorite things
6. Tell someone they need to pee
7. Punch yourself in the face, nipple, and kidney

anonymous asked:

I can't help but wonder about the painkillers that Ward has been prescribed. When talking to Joy, he blames back pain and brings up muscle relaxers but it makes me wonder if he's had injuries here and there caused by Harold that started it all and he just hides it. They don't prescribe that strong stuff for nothing! How long has he been suffering and keeping it to himself? *sigh*

I’VE WONDERED THIS TOO FRIEND! I’m glad you brought this up, I’ve been mulling it over for a while, especially since we see Ward taking painkillers before we ever see Harold hit him.

And then we finally do see Harold hit him, Ward doesn’t exactly seem shocked or surprised. Just fearfully submissive. So we can safely assume Harold has done this many times before, probably when Ward starts smart-mouthing him or disobeys his orders.

So yeah, I definitely think Ward has the pain pills because Harold has injured him on many occasions.

When talking to Joy, I have no doubt Ward was referring to the injury Harold gave him when he punched him in the back/kidney area.

(Also, the fact Ward chuckles when he says it FREAKING KILLS ME.) He’s so embarrassed about it (I’m sure he was embarrassed about overdosing the previous night too, but even that ties back to Harold’s abuse). Probably deeply ashamed too. Who knows how long this has been going on? Years? Does it happen very often or just once in a great while? Maybe just long enough to make Ward start to believe Harold wouldn’t hurt him anymore?

Someone protect this poor trash man.



Guess who’s going on a cruise in December? This bitch right here! :D

Finally, all these years of entering contests and putting my name into prize draws has paid off! I’ve always wanted to go on a cruise guys. A whole two weeks out on the beautiful blue sea. Away from stupid work, away from all my responsibilities, and more importantly- away from freaking winter.

I’ll make a special tag for my cruise album so you all can keep up on it. Hearts!

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[2017.11.13] Henry’s Instagram live (Amber cut)

Henry: Say something.
Amber: Don’t like Henry, he’s lying to you…
Henry: Stop, stop, stop…
Amber: We all love Henry, don’t we? Do you love Henry?
Henry: I love Henry.
Amber: Your thing is still on. Wait, is this live, still?
Henry: No, it’s not live.
Amber: Yeah, it is live.
Henry:   You can say whatever you want.
Amber: Say wantever?
Henry: No no no no…
Amber: Henry just farted, Henry just farted, Henry just farted!! Just kidding.
Henry: We’re squeezed in an elevator.
Amber: Wow, this is great. What if the elevator…
Henry: Elevator left ~ right ~
Amber: Punch you in the kidney.
Henry: The kidney? Not in the stomach, the kidney?
Amber: Punch you in the kidney

(Transcript by  @SJSapphireBlue)

Show Me What You’ve Got

Title:  Show Me What You’ve Got

Author:  Dean’s Dirty Little Secret

Reader request: Dean x reader where they meet at a hunter bar and the reader helps Dean get out of a fight after he hustles some guys at pool? Just a lot of badassery on her part and he’s impressed by her maybe? - anon

Characters:  Dean Winchester x female reader

Word Count:  2385

Warnings:  nsfw, explicit language (Dean has a potty mouth), explicit sexual content, oral sex (male receiving), drinking, bar fight

Author’s Notes:  Written in Dean’s POV.

(gif courtesy of kendaspntwd)

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(one) guy's perspective on herpes

Living with herpes.  Man, that’s a tough one.  Sometimes, it is the most inconsequential part of my life.  I practically forget that I have it, because doesn’t make too many guest appearances.  

Then, one day you wake up and your back and testicles have this dull ache in them, like you got punched in the kidneys the day before and you know the storm, it’s a-comin’.  Only, even then, it’s not the worst thing in the world.  A couple sores that resemble pimples.  They just last a little longer and end up itching.  No big deal.  

I have had this for over three years and I can honestly say that the most embarassing/painful/shitty part is the stigma.  The worry that no one will ever be able to get past that with you in pursuing a new relationship.  That your friends & family will find out.  That your life is over.  I am here to tell you that YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL AND EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.  Sure, I still get depressed sometimes over it and it is incredibly easy to feel like damaged goods.  An STD means you’re a slut and a stupid one, at that, right?  WRONG.  An STD just means “shit happens.”  Honestly, think of how much worse it could have been!

As for the relationship thing, it might be the best thing that ever happened to you.  It’s an immediate litmus test for weeding out people that aren’t worth your time.  I won’t tell you it isn’t scary telling people about HSV and waiting for their response.  It’s terrifying.  But like anything, it gets easier with time.  Plus, you learn to love yourself.  You take better care of your body.  You eat healthier.  You learn that you don’t need anyone else to feel complete.  You learn that if someone immediately decides not to be with you as a result of this, their feelings were not reciprocated and they would have bailed eventually anyways.  I have been single for six months and have grown by leaps and bounds since then.  I appreciate myself in a way that I never did before.  

I feel like I’ve started rambling and lost my train of thought.  So, I will end with this:  You are not damaged goods.  You have value.  You are beautiful and everything will be ok.  And if you ever need to talk, my inbox is here.  Have a great day/night/life!

commutingtoreality  asked:

Thanks for taking prompts! Should I not be too late for this meme and if it please you, could I ask for a 16 RaphxCasey? I love when you make those two work hard, and nothing says "self-conscious turtle & boyfriend" more than quiet sweetness. Alternately, Apritello 17? If you already have your fill of requests, don't worry: I'll take my popcorn and enjoy with gusto the other prompts you choose to write! :)

16. when one person’s face is scrunched up, and the other one kisses their lips/nose/forehead 


Raph’s known Casey for ten years, and in that time, Casey’s had twenty-seven jobs. They all start the same way: Casey comes slamming into the lair or April’s apartment, wherever everyone’s hanging out that night, and yells “My dudes! Guess who’s gainfully employed!”. Then he flexes for a while, invades someone’s personal space – usually Donnie’s, sometimes Leo’s – till someone bites the bullet and asks for the full story. 

Twenty-seven times Raph’s done this rodeo, and he knows exactly where it’s going to end. Maybe in three days, maybe in six months, but there’s only one place Casey ever ends up: fired. 

(”Does it ever bug you?” Raph asked him once, right after Casey was very politely asked to get the hell out of PetSmart and to please never come back. “Like, when April got fired from Trader Joe’s, she punched a hole in the wall.” 

Casey just shrugged. “I mean, yeah, it sucks, but I get it. Not many places are gonna be pumped about a cashier comin’ in with bruises all the time. Kinda scares the customers.” 

Both of them knew there was no way Casey was gonna stop what gave him the bruises, because Casey Jones is Lawful Stupid and would be till the day he died.) 

It’s different this time. Raph swings through the living room window, six pack under his arm and ready to huddle under a blanket to watch the game, just to find the living room empty. 

“Case?” he calls. “You there?” 

Something rattles in the kitchen. Raph heads in that direction, after a backwards look to make sure April’s door is good and closed. Not that he minds having April around, but he’d just rather not have her around being a turd about how the Rangers are going to crap out, again. Casey’s already enough of a headcase about them as it is. 

But April’s door is closed, and the only light in the apartment is coming from the kitchen. Raph walks inside to find Casey at the stove, glaring into a pot of boiling water, tapping a metal spoon against the side. 

“I’m here.” Raph drops the beers on the table and sits down in his usual seat. “What’s for dinner?” 

Casey ignores him to keep tapping the spoon against the pot. From what Raph can see through the heavy sweep of his hair, Casey’s scowling, face all creased up, like Donnie’s when some experiment dares to betray him by not succeeding immediately. 

“Hey,” says Raph, kicking Casey in the leg. “Anybody home?” 

“Jesus, Raph, I’m right here.” Casey shifts away. “And pasta, we’re doin’ pasta.” 

“Whoa, what crawled up your ass and died?” Raph reaches for a beer, because it’s obviously going to be that kind of night, and he might as well get started now. “I was just asking –” 

“Yeah, I know, and I answered.” Casey glares at him, brows low and mouth tugged down in a hard curve. “Or did you want me to read you the ingredients while I was at it?” 

Raph avoids feelings, talking about feelings, thinking about feelings, and having feelings as much as possible; that kind of stuff slows you down in a fight, when all you should be thinking about is how to take the bad guys down hard enough so that they don’t get up again. Do your job, do your best, and things will work out. 

He’s got feelings, he just doesn’t deal with them. But sometimes he makes an exception for Casey, because there’s a soft gooey center under all that hair gel and ego, and something in Raph – something just as soft, that he’s never going to admit to having – wants to make sure that nothing keeps Casey down for good. 

“You okay?” he asks, popping the cap off another beer and holding it out to Casey. “Because if you’re not, you should…talk to April.” 

Critical miss! yells Donnie inside Raph’s head. 

“Yeah, because talking to Little Miss Perfect’s gonna make everything all better. Thanks for that, Raph.” Casey takes the beer and drains half of it in a gulp. 

“Or you could talk to me,” Raph says in a rush, before he can stop himself. He scratches the back of his neck, not looking at Casey, and silently sighs in relief when Casey drops into the seat across from him. 

“I got fired,” Casey says, once he’s finished his beer. “Go ahead, I think it’s your turn for the I told you so.” 

Normally, Raph would be all over that, but Casey’s usually the one to start making fun of himself once the inevitable hits. He doesn’t try to boil spaghetti water with his brain, and he doesn’t shit on April. And this job had meant something to Casey. Raph’s a dick, but he’s not an asshole. “I’ll pass,” he says. “What happened?” 

Casey’s scowl deepens, hard lines on either side of his mouth and at his eyes. “Came in late and beat up one too many times, same as always,” he says. “Can’t have the kiddos seeing their coach all beat to hell. Bad example. Or that’s what the school board said.” 

There’s a beat of quiet, then Casey drops his forehead to the table. “Fuck,” he says, muffled by the wood. “Just this once, I thought I was doin’ something good.”

Raph squirms in his seat. It sucks for Casey, more than anyone can say, but he’s got no idea how to handle this. How pathetic is this, that Casey’s his boyfriend but even Donnie could handle this better? 

Casey stays facedown on the table, his hands clenched in his hair, till Raph feels the irresistible impulse to stand up, lean over the table, and lift Casey up by the shoulders. 

“You were doing something good,” he says, the words nearly choking him. “They’re assholes. I’m sorry.” 

And then, because Casey’s still scowling and Raph has no idea what to do next, he kisses Casey on the forehead, like he’s seen April do whenever Donnie gets into a funk. 

There’s another beat, and then Casey snickers. “Oh my god,” he says. “That’s so sweet. You been takin’ lessons?” 

Raph pulls away so he won’t strangle Casey with his own bandanna, and grabs the beer. “You’re the worst,” he says, stalking back toward the living room. “I try to do one thing –” 

“It was just really heterosexual!” Casey yells, following him and grinning like an asshole now. “I’m not used to –” 

Raph tackles him to the floor and starts punching for his kidneys, but Casey is laughing, and hey, at least now he’s dealt with feelings for the next year or so, right? 


Fic Update: Any Four Walls: Shell Game (19/?)

Yes, you read that right. It’s a two update week! 

Also on AO3


Shell Game

Stepping into her old life felt like pulling a dress out of the back of the closet expecting the hips to be too tight or the zipper to stick, and finding instead that it still fit perfectly. Even though she’d once loved the dress, once thought about nothing except wearing the dress, now Shepard wasn’t sure she liked it much. Her taste was different. She wanted colors instead of black, white, and red. She wanted something comfortable enough for chasing her kids in, for piggy-back rides, for crawling around in the dirt.

Maybe her old life, her old armor, wasn’t like a dress at all. Maybe that was too innocent a metaphor. Maybe it was more like someone almost three years sober picking up a drink and pounding it back in one pull, already reaching for another. Maybe the drink tasted good. Maybe the drink tasted too good. The weight of the pistol at her hip was good; the weight of the rifle on her back even better.

Far more dangerous than a dress.

More dangerous even than a drink.

She shook her head. Her hair was too tightly bound; it gave her a headache, but the headache was necessary. The pain kept her focused. The pain kept her looking forward, thinking forward, instead of letting her imagination run wild in directions that would only leave her sobbing in the shower, pounding a helpless fist into a tile wall that only broke first because Cerberus had done too good a job rebuilding her bones.

She still bled, though. Still hurt. They’d never been able to pull that out of her.

She put on her armor, her guns. She interrogated suspects who flinched away from her and spoke too quickly. Her husband did not die.

It took no time at all to mobilize the Normandy. With concerned eyes, Alenko deferred to her as he’d always done, and when she tried—only nominally—to protest, he insisted on the grounds she was both senior Spectre and Alliance admiral, outranking him twice over.

She didn’t point out that Spectres didn’t have rank. She didn’t remind him that admirals sat behind desks and didn’t run ground-team Marine missions.

No one said, “Hey, Shepard, you think maybe you’re a little too close to this? You think maybe you should let someone else take point?”

She almost wished someone would, but she wasn’t going to make them. She sure as hell wasn’t going to say it for them, not with so much at stake.

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